


Isolation

by draconicsockpuppet



Category: Dwarf Fortress
Genre: Alternate Universe - Untitled Goose Game Fusion, Canon-Typical Crack, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Magma, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hidden Fun Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 10:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draconicsockpuppet/pseuds/draconicsockpuppet
Summary: Hellwave! Hellwave! Wonder of the dwarven world! Too deep we delved there, and woke the nameless fear.And yet one hero survived the endless hordes; one hero, and a goose...
Relationships: Original Female Character & The Goose (Untitled Goose Game)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Untitled Goose Exchange 2: 2 Goose 2 Furious





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/gifts).

The Cyclone of Wailing was a dwarven civilization of the Legendary Dimensions.

In the late summer of 1017, The Profane Syrups of The Cyclone of Wailing discovered raw adamantine in the depths of Hellwave.

In the early autumn of 1017, The Cyclone of Wailing held a ceremony in Hellwave as part of The Constructive Festival. The event featured a telling of the story of the ascension of the dwarf Dakost Mansionthorns to the position of queen of The Cyclone of Wailing in 1012, a performance of The Satin of Meandering, a recital of The Lyrical Sheen and banners.

In the early autumn of 1017, The Cyclone of Wailing held a goose-training contest in Hellwave as part of The Constructive Festival. Competing were the dwarf Ustuth Metallash, the dwarf Oddom Shakenpaint, the dwarf Uvash Sculptpost and the dwarf Shorast Wisefeather. The dwarf Shorast Wisefeather was the victor.

In the early autumn of 1017, The Cyclone of Wailing held a procession in Hellwave as part of The Constructive Festival. The event featured images, a performance of The Satin of Meandering, incense burners, and costumes.

In the midautumn of 1017, Hellwave went silent.

* * *

Shorast was sleeping when it happened. She was a firm believer that animals had better senses (and better sense) than their dwarven keepers, so when she woke to the braying of donkeys and the honking of geese, she knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

The caverns were quiet; all the exits except the road south to Shadowmines had been bricked up, and that had a drawbridge so there was no chance of giant cave spiders sneaking in and skewering the sheep. Most of the dwarves of Hellwave preferred to live close to the central staircase, but Shorast had always been enochlophobic; too many dwarves in one place would send her into screaming fits. So the overseer had kindly sent a bed to the caverns, and Otin Baldjaw brought her food and libations from the kitchen regularly, and Shorast spent her life caring for Hellwave's herds and flocks.

The sheep were screaming, too. Shorast threw back her blanket. Leshal, her favorite of the geese, crawled out from under it and began honking again.

"I hear you, I hear you," Shorast said. "I'm going to look. Will you come with me?"

Leshal honked again and followed as Shorast left the little hollowed-out stalagmite that she had made her home.

The donkeys weren't just braying; they were _cowering_. Shorast hadn't known that was possible. But they couldn't tell her what was wrong, so she continued on the path to the central stairs.

The drawbridge between the caverns and the fortress was up. The caverns were entirely walled off.

"That's no good." Shorast looked at Leshal. "Are they protecting us? Or themselves?"

The ground shuddered.

Shorast scooped up Leshal. "We're going the back way."

Tok Riftsiege, one of the younger mechanics, had once shown her a tiny stairwell during his monthly visit to pet the sheep. The stairwell was just large enough for one dwarf and ascended close to the kitchens, then went through a complicated tunnel system with a ramp and a hatch at the end. He'd sworn no monster, however terrible, could get through so long as the hatch was kept locked, and the hatch was always locked except in emergencies.

This was indeed an emergency, but as Shorast stared through the hatch grating at the hideous monster below, and the mangled corpses of kitchen workers – including poor Otin Baldjaw, his legs and arms torn off and his intestines spilled out over the floor – she wondered if there was any point. These creatures were like something out of a bedtime story. What could she possibly do to stop them?

"What are those things?"

Honk!

"Of course you can't help, you're only a goose."

Leshal stood on the hatch and flapped his wings. Honk! Honk!

"They'll kill you too!"

Leshal bowled her over, and as she lay wheezing on the floor, hopped up on her chest and gave one last great HONK!, louder than any that had come before.

"You're my friend," Shorast whispered.

Leshal butted his head into her chin, and nuzzled at her hair as she cried. Finally she sat up, wiped her face dry, and said, "Like mama always said, when you need a plan, go to the lever room."

The lever room was two floors down from the kitchen, near the breweries and alcohol stockpile. The central stairs were likely swarming with the strange, horrifying monsters, but the emergency exit was on the far edge of the long, spacious kitchen hall, and the fortress had been built with a sharp dwarven eye for efficient traffic patterns; smaller stairwells ran between the various workshops, farms, and stockpiles to enable faster hauling.

Shorast's stomach growled, and she patted at it. No matter how this went, she probably wouldn't be eating dinner tonight.

"Okay. Let's go." And she unlocked the hatch.

Leshal slipped through immediately, attacking the monster with a great Honk! and violent wings. Shorast smiled; Leshal had once been considered the most stubborn, intractable, and downright horrible goose in the entire fortress. Yet with a little kind treatment, he had become her dearest companion.

He even fought monsters out of legends to keep her safe. Demons! That was what they were called. Then the fortress… had earned this fate through their greed.

But there was no time for that sort of thought.

Shorast descended the ramp, locking the hatch behind her, and ran to the stairwell. "Leshal! Leave it!"

The goose honked wildly, knocked the shadowy rat-thing down, and did something to it, something Shorast couldn't see – she was too busy running. And then Leshal was behind her, and before her, screaming and flapping and knocking down a demon that looked rather like an emaciated fruitbat, but with tentacles.

"Good goose," Shorast managed to say as she panted. "Keep going."

So they did.

The door of the lever room had been busted down, and a dwarven body lay torn to shreds on the floor – Shorast didn't look too closely. She ran straight for the lever marked 'Backup Plan #1' and pulled it.

A drawbridge shuddered up. Shorast looked at Leshal. They were locked in, and the monsters locked out; but unlike the caverns, there was no way to survive indefinitely.

"I'm sorry," Shorast whispered, and pulled the lever marked 'Backup Plan #2'.

A rumbling echoed up out of the deeps: dozens of magma-safe pumps working in concert, powered by intricate systems of waterwheels bricked off somewhere in the third cavern layer. Dozens of pumps worked to pull the fortress's life blood, the molten rock which fueled the forges, through its tunnels and destroy everything inside.

Outside the lever room, something began screaming, a high-pitched sound like a thousand tea kettles set on fire, harmonizing as they sang their own death knells. It went on for several minutes. Then at last there was only the sound of silence, and a faint bubbling.

Shorast looked around. There were no other levers. She sat and gave a deep sigh. Her stomach rumbled again.

"I don't think we're getting out of this one, Leshal."

Honk! went the goose, and he attacked the 'Backup Plan #2' lever. Shorast winced as it sprang back into place. And then the sound of the pumps began again.

"But the tunnels are full…?"

The burbling receeded. And then, a shuffling sound.

Oh no. What if the magma hadn't killed the demons? What now?

Shorast reached for the 'Backup Plan #1' lever. Leshal knocked her away, honking wildly and flapping his wings at her.

"Okay, okay! I won't. But…"

**_Come out and play, little dwarf,_** a hollow voice crooned. **_Come out and die with your brethren._**

"Let's not," Shorast said, and looked to Leshal. She didn't care about herself, but she wasn't about to give up her goose to that creature.

The goose nodded in approval at her decision, then went to the wall and pecked at it.

"What?"

Leshal stared at her like she was stupid – she had seen that look many times from many animals over the years, the price of being born a dwarf instead of a more sensible creature – and tapped at the wall with his bill again.

Shorast ran her hands over the wall. It was smooth, but on close inspection, constructed out of blocks; she could take it down without needing a pickaxe.

"You are the best of all possible geese," Shorast whispered, and set to work.

By the time she'd opened a hole large enough for herself, her stomach was _really_ growling. Behind the wall was another staircase going down. As she descended into the depths, Leshal on her heels, she counted the floors. Ten… twenty… thirty-two. The number of floors between the lever room and her cavern.

At the bottom of the staircase was a little hollow with a bin and a barrel. In the bin were ten bars of iron, ten bars of charcoal, and a steel pickaxe. The barrel was filled with bags of seeds and labeled 'Backup Plan #3', and on top of it was a letter written on sheepskin parchment. She popped a rock nut into her mouth and read the letter as she chewed.

* * *

_Shorast Wisefeather,_

_I'd say I hope this letter finds you well, but you wouldn't be here if it wasn't needed. I assume something terrible has happened and all our usual approaches to problem-solving have failed. This, then, is your duty: STAY. ALIVE. The caverns are safely blocked off from whatever horrors lurk outside. You should be able to gather sufficient vegetation on your own to continue on as you have been, although you'll have to brew your own ale. WAIT for the mountainhome to send troops. Better yet, wait for the humans to kill whatever's caused us problems, then welcome the new migrants._

_Your task lies before you: Stay alive, stay away from the danger. You've managed to avoid the rest of the family for forty years now. I'm sure you can handle this too._

_With love and respect,_  
_your brother, Tok Riftsiege_

* * *

Shorast checked the walls; sure enough, one of them was dwarf-made. And on the other side of the wall, when she'd taken it down, the caverns stretched out before her. She was on the hill above the stables, and over there was her stalagmite hut, and –

She sat down heavily. Leshal waddled into her lap, spread his wings, and gave her a great hug as she cried into his feathers.

Tok was right.

Shorast was perfect for this job.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Demitas for beta reading.


End file.
